Treacherous
by barnes1917
Summary: But he's like quicksand — once you're in, you're drowning and there's no stopping it. Resist all you want, but the more you squirm, the faster you sink. He's a trap, your greatest weakness, and damn it, you wish it was all so much simpler. (Safer.) / T for implications, but can be interpreted other ways.


_**Whoop! First Austin and Ally fic while also being my first fic to be written in second person POV. Slightly AU where they never awkwardly attempted to date before maturely deciding to stay friends, but instead it's even messier and angsty-er. Because I like to write messy situations with a simple ending.**_

 _ **Inspired by Treacherous — Taylor Swift. Listening to the album version or the demo version helps set the mood but it's not a must.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I don't own A &A nor do I own Treach**_ _ **erous by Taylor Swift.**_

* * *

" _Do you want to dance?_ "

You almost politely decline until he holds out his hand — those hands that he uses to control you without even meaning to. He looks so hopeful and you're nodding before you know it and his hand finds yours and he's dragging you to the dance floor.

Your arms are snaking around his neck before you can even think about it. It just felt natural. His shaky hands find your waist, nervous to touch you although he's been this close plenty of times before. ( _He's taught you how to slow dance, for christ's sake.)_

You pull him closer in an attempt to calm his nerves ( _or your own? You're not quite sure, what with the noise of your heart pounding in your ears and all._ ) and he's close enough for you to smell his delicious cologne, so close that he's almost out of focus. But you make sure to keep him just far enough away that he can't kiss you. Why? Because that's dangerous territory and you're unsure as to whether or not you're ready to explore it. ( _It's far too soon, you think._ )

Eventually his magical hand is _oh-so-gently_ guiding your head to rest upon his chest, and you gladly comply as he tangles his hands in your hair and drops them both to wrap themselves tightly around your small frame, just as you suspected would happen by the first chorus. You know you should've been smart and declined, maybe even walked away, if anything at all to slow your heart from feeling things you wished it wouldn't, but he's like quicksand — once you're in, you're drowning and there's no stopping it. Resist all you want, but the more you squirm, the faster you sink. He's a trap, your greatest weakness, and _damn it,_ you wish it was all so much _simpler. (Safer.)_

Was it a choice, getting swept away by his childish disposition and kindness, his loving nature and his charm? You aren't sure. All you know is that one moment you were writing partners and good friends, and the next you two had gone and made a big mess out of things because of _ugh, feelings_.

Making a mess of things was his specialty, really, and although it irks you to think about, you're so utterly elated that he used corndogs as drumsticks on that hot summer day all those months ago. That's when you knew he was different. Before him, you walked the halls of school and the mall and saw everyone going with the flow, surrendering their own unique qualities to be part of the in crowd, never stepping out of line or making any messes. Not one of them would've walked into a music store and played the drums with corndogs, not in a million years. Not one of those teenagers could've flipped your life like Austin Moon had managed to do.

He was dangerous; not in the way that he would purposely hurt you, _God no,_ but in the way that he is your best friend, and falling for your best friend didn't always end well, no matter how hard the movies tried to convince you it did. He was reckless and dangerous and falling for him was, well, quite treacherous in all the worst ways it could be. Things could go _terribly, horribly wrong_ between the two of you, and losing him isn't a thought you can stomach. It would make things awkward and sad and just flat out unbearable. He pushes you out of your shell and you keep him grounded; you need each other, you rely on one another. Which is why it was so dangerous. If he was gone, who else could push you in the same ways he manages to do? Why the hell did you have to go and fall for each other? _And why did you like the danger?_

The night is over, and it's time for him to drive you home. You feel a pinch in your chest knowing he'll have to leave you, that you'll be alone, but you smile up at him anyways as he opens the car door for you. He's such a gentleman and you lo-... _you really appreciate it_. ( _Don't say the "L" word. Don't. It's not time yet. You're not ready, either of you._ )

As he gets in the car, his smile has faded, and you know he can feel the weight of all of his choices and actions during the night crashing down on him all at once. He's just made things messier, and he's cursing himself for that. ( _He blames himself for this whole situation; he chases after you like a puppy dog, always at your beck and call, always whispering sweet nothings as if he had the right to do so._ ) You tentatively touch his hand to let him know you're in the same boat, that you've helped make the mess too, that you have to deal with the consequences of your actions _too_.

He just sighs, forlorn eyes ghosting over your face before he starts the car and drives you home.

And you feel guilty, _so horribly guilty_ , for making him wait, holding his heart in your hand and locking your own behind bars so far out of his reach; but you can't blindly run into something so dangerous. You hope he understands. _(He does. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt like hell.)_

* * *

Later that night, when the moon is high in the sky and shining in your window, you can't stop thinking about him. Thoughts of him echo in your mind and steal away your slumber. So, in your sleep deprived, flustered state, you make a rash decision. It's unlike you, but you don't care. You jump into your car and drive straight to his house. You need him, and you need him _now_.

You need to feel his hand in yours, you need to smell his scent, you need his arms to wrap themselves around you and you need him to remind you how unfaltering his feelings for you are. You need his lips on your own once more, no matter the costs. It's been far too long since the last time, and you miss him, and if you could _just be together_ _and not worry about anything_ , tonight would have gone so, _so_ very different.

Your headlights are bright against the darkness of the night, and they remind you of the stage lights that illuminate his figure when he performs. He's so free, so at ease, so content on stage, and when you watch him up on the platform he calls his second home you fall for him all over again. It's crazy, really, but you feel the desire to tell him about every time he crosses your mind. He should know that you do in fact return his feelings, but you're also scared. You're treading on treacherous territory, but it gives you such a rush that you often forget the danger, you forget that you could potentially lose one of the most important people in your life.

But is safety really worth it?

 _Would you be driving at this time of night if it was_ _ **safe**_ _?_

...

 _Probably not._

As you turn onto his street you see a figure in sweatpants and a hoodie walking up to the porch. _It's him_ , you realize as he pulls off his hood and shakes out his mop of blonde hair. He sees headlights in the corner of his eye and turns around just as you're pulling into his driveway. The look in his eyes is a mixture of shock and joy.

( _He knows why you're there, even if you haven't realized it yet._ )

You shut off your car and get out, meeting him at the the porch. You greet him, nervous and shaky and _oh my gosh,_ you've just realized why you're here, and _it's far too late to turn back now_. You've fallen and your only parachute is him; you're relying on him once more and you're reminded of the danger.

But this time, you're not as petrified as before. He's slowly pushing the fear out of your mind, and you're letting him this time.

His eyes catch yours as you ramble out your confession and the reasoning behind your choices, and there's an intense emotion in them that you can't quite name. ( _You've seen it so many times before, but you've been too scared to give it a name._ ) You watch him carefully as your ramble comes to a close — he's processing everything, but you can see in his eyes the same emotion from before, and you understand the emotion now, _you can name it._

Uttering it might be a little bit too dangerous at the moment, ( _you've had enough danger for one day_ ) so you don't. You keep quiet as you wait.

And you wait.

And wait.

And then he steps closer, close enough so you can smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed in with a hint of sweat, ( _you should find it gross, but it's absolutely_ _intoxicating_ ) and your mind reels as his hand brushes your hair from your face, and your stomach lurches as he cups your cheek with one hand and his other gently grasps at your hip to bring you closer. And he ducks his head down as he leans in, and your heart is palpitating, but when his lips brush yours you throw yourself into the kiss wholeheartedly, _fearlessly_.

You're on your tiptoes, grasping at his hoodie, and he's grabbing at your blouse, and in the back of your mind is the faintest of worries about his parents being home or someone seeing you two on the porch and you pull away suddenly. He looks so much like a sad puppy and all you want is to kiss away any doubts he has about your feelings, but there's plenty of time for that in the near future, although you can't help but give him another sweet kiss to reassure him. And he grins afterwards, eyes trying their best to focus on your own in the dark.

" _Your parents?_ " He looks at you, confused, so you clarify; " _Where are they?_ "

He smirks then, eyes twinkling in the moonlight. " _They're still in Panama for a meeting_."

Without a second's hesitation you pull him in for another kiss and he blindly fumbles with the door handle, stumbling backwards into the house while trying his best to keep his lips on you. ( _He doesn't want to let you go; you've slipped through his fingers one too many times for him to bear it again._ ) You slam the door shut, and as he presses your back against the wooden object and continues to attack your lips with his own, you realize what's happening and _for once in your life, you're not scared_.

You two have wandered into treacherous territory, but it all seems worthwhile when you awake in his arms the next day, the morning sun warming you to your core.

* * *

 ** _(Please don't forget to review. They make me happy.)_**


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